


Ain't Quite Pretty Woman

by orphan_account



Series: Collected Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dissociation, Frottage, M/M, Making Out, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sex Work, Sex Worker Steve Rogers, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a thick wad of cash on the stand beside the door, the clock was ticking closer and closer to nine, and Bucky was already regretting this decision. He fell onto the sofa, the tense feeling of anxiety twisting and clenching in his gut. It pulled him forward, pulled his hands to grip into his hair and dragged a low groan from his throat.</p><p>What the hell had made him think this would be a good idea?</p><p>(Prompt: <b>Hooker/Client AU, but Bucky's the client and nervous about it.</b>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Quite Pretty Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Who has two thumbs and wrote a hooker!AU where they don't even have sex?
> 
> THIS GUY.
> 
>  
> 
> ***A note on the language in this fic: I'd prefer generally not to use some of the terminology in this fic, but as it's written pretty close 3rd person to Bucky, it seemed a bit incongruous not to use terms like "hooker" and "prostitute", if I wanted to keep the voice. Just a side note. :)

There was a thick wad of cash on the stand beside the door, the clock was ticking closer and closer to nine, and Bucky was already regretting this decision. He fell onto the sofa, the tense feeling of anxiety twisting and clenching in his gut. It pulled him forward, pulled his hands to grip into his hair and dragged a low groan from his throat.

What the hell had made him think this would be a good idea?

There was music playing on the stereo. He had just started playing the first album on his docked iPod, without thinking about it, but as he sat there, starting to breathe more shallowly and feeling light-headed, he realized it was starting to make him feel self-conscious.

Would the prostitute think he had chosen to put on this specifically? Would they judge his choice in sex music? Was that a thing that would happen?

Bucky groaned. See, he was over-thinking things already. That was the whole point of hiring a hooker – he wouldn’t have to think about any of this crap. He could just focus on himself for goddamn once. Try to enjoy sex without managing to work himself up enough to either hyperventilate or disassociate.

God knows he was optimistic thinking he’d be able to pull _this_ off. Sighing, Bucky glanced at his phone. He could still cancel, he supposed. Although, maybe he should just wait for the guy to show up – he should be arriving any minute, really – and give him the money before sending him on his way. Would that be the right thing to do? Canceling now would surely mean putting the guy out of at least a couple of hours work.

Seriously, what on earth had possessed him to try this? He had been feeling good about the idea for most of the prior week; but that was when he’d been imagining some faceless non-person coming over and just fucking him without attachment or pressure. But the fact of the matter – which was just now starting to dawn on him – was that no matter what, he _wouldn’t_ be fucking a non-person. A real, live, living, breathing, _judging_ human was going to walk through that door, and they were going to expect him to have sex with them.

Who cared if that was their job? It was still too much. Maybe it was even worse, because at least if he maybe kept trying to date or whatever (unsuccessful so far), at least sex wasn’t the _only_ thing he was expected to engage in. Yeah, he should definitely cancel. This wasn’t going to work.

He breathed in slowly and held the breath as he counted to seven. On the other hand, he thought, it would be good to push through. Get fucking _past this_. Better than sitting through another goddamn session with his therapist about his intimacy issues, at least.

However, before he could make a decision, the buzzer for his apartment sounded off and Bucky jumped in his skin, startling like he did every time, no matter how much he was expecting it.

He quickly got up and wiped his sweaty palms on his black trackpants, before walking over to the comm and holding down the button. His voice cracked on his tongue as he tried to speak. He cleared his throat, and said, ‘Uh, hello.’

'Hey,' he voice on the other end of the line replied. 'Erm, I'm not exactly delivering pizza.' There was a touch of light humor to his tone, and for some reason it made Bucky even more uneasy, his heartbeat thudding in his throat. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, fighting back a wave of nausea, and pushed the button to let the guy in.

Yeah, he was going to back out. Downstairs, he could hear the door creaking open, and echo shut a moment later, and Bucky quickly moved over to the stereo to switch off the music. Silence. Silence was better.

He heard footsteps in the stairwell.

Nope. No, silence was worse. Much worse. He could hear his own shallow breathing, and the rustling of movement outside the door. Quickly, before the guy could knock, he stepped into the little nook of a front hallway and unlocked the door, pulling it inwards.

The hooker smiled at him, looking up at Bucky through thick, dark eyelashes. ‘Evenin’,’ he said.

Bucky held the door for him, trying to breathe properly. He scrubbed his palm – the non-prosthetic one – over his mouth and jaw anxiously.

'Look,' he said quickly. 'Um, I've made a mistake. I think I'm about to waste your time.'

The hooker had already walked past him, but he turned around to face Bucky again, expression pretty neutral. ‘That’s a shame,’ he said, and Bucky swallowed. The guy wasn’t quite what he had been expecting. He wasn’t sure exactly what he _had_ been expecting, though. In some ways, this guy probably fit the bill. Pretty, blond, young. But instead of being dressed in whatever it was that Bucky imagined male hookers wore (tight white tanks with booty shorts, maybe?), the guy was just wearing dark skinny jeans tucked into combat boots and a blue tee that was probably a size small, but still sat about two sizes too big on him. He was all bones, and surprisingly sharp eyes.

His chin was tilted up at Bucky in a slightly defiant gesture that could be a defense mechanism or genuine temerity, it was hard to tell.

'I'll still pay you,' Bucky assured him quickly, and the chin dropped down a little, the guy's expression softening. 'I just— don't think I can go through with this.'

He smiled lopsidedly and waved Bucky off. ‘Nah, don’t worry about it,’ he said, then glanced at the stack of cash consideringly. ‘Or, okay, maybe enough for a cab home? If you’re sure you…’ He bit his lip, looking Bucky over, and shrugged. ‘We don’t have to fuck,’ he pointed out. ‘I could just…’

He began to mime a blowjob, and then, seeing what was probably a look of anxious terror slipping onto Bucky’s face, smoothly shifted the gesture into one of a talking hand, said: ‘…Chat?’

Bucky snorted, coughing into his hand and shaking his head. The anxious feeling had shifted upwards a little in his body: instead of churning low in his stomach, it was now fluttering just inside his chest, feeling a little numb and tingly. He vaguely felt like he might be dreaming, which wasn’t a good sign. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’re a great… conversationalist. But I’m in over my head.’

The examining look the guy was giving him was way more intense than Bucky felt comfortable receiving from a sex worker. He shifted on the spot, still holding the door open, and looked down at the floor. It was in desperate need of a vacuum, he thought distractedly.

Slowly, the hooker spoke up again. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m real sorry if I’m overstepping here. And maybe I’m just looking at that stack of money and it’s lookin’ real tempting—’

'I told you, you can have it,' Buck interjected swiftly, trying to cut the guy off from whatever he was going to say. 'This is my problem, so it's all yours.'

The guy pulled a face. ‘Yeah, but I need to _earn_ it,’ he said. ‘I can’t just take your money and go home without doing nothing. That ain’t right.’

Bucky shook his head, but slowly he closed the door, not wanting any of his neighbors to walk by on him negotiating with a prostitute. ‘It’s pretty standard business practice,’ he reasoned. ‘Like, you book a venue and put down a payment. You don’t show up, the venue keeps your money, right?’

'Yeah. But I ain't a reception hall,' the guy said, his lips quirking up into a slightly dirty smirk. Bucky looked past him, trying not to think about how pretty he actually was. It was pointless, because they would get to taking off clothes and Bucky would panic, and then it would be tomorrow and he wouldn't remember what had happened, most likely. Or, he _would_ , and it would all be there in vivid, ice cold detail, and he would throw up for hours like he usually did.

Oh _Christ_ , he had issues.

'I'm just saying,' the hooker was saying, and Bucky snapped his attention back to him with difficulty. 'I'm happy to earn that money however you want over the next two hours. I give good massages, for instance. Or we can just have a drink on the balcony. Doesn't have to be anything you're not comfortable with. I always love easy money.'

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, considering. This wasn’t exactly how he had planned his evening, or _any_ evening, really – but honestly, the guy really did seem to be laid back about this, and Bucky did get the impression that there genuinely wasn’t much pressure on him to actually get physical.

He let out a breath. What the hell else was he going to do with his night anyway?

'Here,' he said, and passed over the stack of bills to the hooker, who grinned, and immediately counted it back, out loud.

After he was done, he smiled at Bucky and said, ‘Well, that’s it. I’m Steve, I’m yours until eleven. James, right?’

Bucky shook his head. ‘Well, yeah,’ he said. ‘But Bucky. I go by Bucky.’ He looked at his hand, clenching his prosthetic from habit – as always, the movement seemed just a little slower than was natural, but the microchip in the arm picked up on the signals in his peripheral nerve anyway, and performed the action eventually. He could feel Steve watching curiously. ‘Uh, I’ll get you a drink,’ he said, turning around to head into the kitchen, thankful for an excuse to get out from under the hooker’s gaze for a moment. ‘Beer or wine?’

'Light beer, if you have it,' Steve said from behind him, and Bucky breathed out a laugh. Once upon a time he would have made fun of anyone who willingly drank light beer, but these days it was all he kept on hand himself. Too much alcohol wasn't good on him any more.

'Sure thing,' he said, pulling two bottles out of the fridge and pausing for a moment to look for the bottle opener, even though he knew exactly where it was, as he got a hold of himself.

This was fine, he reminded himself. Surreal as fuck, but fine. Just a couple of beers with a prostitute, and then going to bed by eleven thirty and forgetting this humiliating incident ever happened. Normal Saturday night. Calming himself, he uncapped both bottles, and came out into the living room, where Steve was waiting patiently.

'You don't have to worry,' he said, taking the beer. 'I can see you're nervous, that's fine.' He laughed. 'Think about how nervous I was the first time I took a job. I've been there, I get it. As I said, we're here for you. Whatever you wanna do, when you feel alright about it.' He paused, amending the statement. 'Uh, I mean, I have things that are off the table of course, and you know. Your capping time is in two hours. But within those limits, whatever, whenever.'

Bucky crossed over the room, opening the door to the balcony as Steve followed. It was a pleasant night, one of the first milder ones after the end of winter. The air was still brisk with chill, but not enough to be uncomfortable, and Bucky’s balcony was set up well, at least. He liked spending time out here at night, when it was quieter and he could just feel above and beyond the thrum of the city down below. As they stepped outside, he turned on the outdoor lights, basking the small balcony in a warm, gold glow, and gestured to the little cushioned settee that sat snugly in the corner of the railing.

'What are your limits?' he asked as Steve sat down, but stayed standing himself, leaning against the balcony and taking a draught of beer. 'Is it like, this _no-kissing_ rule or something?’

'Why, you gonna wanna kiss me?'

'Uh, I dunno,' Bucky said. He coughed to clear his throat, and it came out shaky and hollow in his throat, like dizziness; and he winced, thumping his chest with his prosthetic hand to try to clear the feeling. It was useless, it was psychosomatic, not physical, he knew that. 'I'm sorry, this must be really annoying for you.'

'No, it's all good,' Steve assured him. 'Trust me, it's fine if this is your first time.' Looking him over carefully, Steve seemed to consider his next words. 'With a hooker, or, you know. At all. That's fine.'

Bucky laughed, a bit too brashly. ‘It’s, no, it’s not.’ He looked down into his beer. ‘The last time I had sex was probably about, I dunno, nine months ago?’

Steve shrugged. ‘That ain’t the longest dry spell I heard of, not by a long shot,’ he replied breezily.

'Yeah, but.' Bucky's lips twisted. 'I don't remember none of it,' he explained, and immediately went silent. He shouldn't really be spilling his guts to a sex worker. He could usually barely work up the gumption to spill his guts to his psych. What the hell was wrong with him?

But now Steve was looking absolutely horrified, and it struck Bucky that maybe he had phrased that poorly. ‘I wasn’t, like—’ He took a quick, rough drink of beer, swallowing down quickly. ‘It was consensual. She was, it was a girl I was seeing, just for a couple weeks. Everything was going fine until I woke up in the middle of the night, and she was asleep next to me, and she got up to find me on the floor of the bathroom, having a panic attack.’ Laughing humorlessly, Bucky shifted on the spot. ‘She hadn’t even realized anything was wrong, but I had just… left the building, I guess. Auto-piloted it.’

Steve was quiet while he spoke, chewing on his lip in concern, and when Bucky trailed off he shifted over on the little seat pointedly, making space for Bucky to join him – but he didn’t, still just leaning on the railing.

'I once threw up on a guys dick,' Steve said out of nowhere, after the silence had dragged a little longer than was comfortable.

It shocked a startled laugh out of Bucky. ‘What?’

'I was getting over a stomach flu, and I went off to see a client. I was tryin' to deep throat him, I guess. Usually I'm fine at that, F.Y.I., but my gag reflex was shot to hell 'cause I'd been puking all week already. And yeah.'

'Did you, I dunno, give him his money back?'

Steve looked down at his beer, grinning. ‘I tried,’ he said, and – pausing for a moment – Bucky moved across the balcony and sat down next to him. He felt very self aware of every part of his body, like any move too close to Steve would be a demand, and any distance between them was somehow… unprofessional. But suddenly he wanted to be sitting next to him, at least. ‘He didn’t let me,’ Steve continued. ‘In fact, he shoved an extra twenty onto the pile and tried to book another appointment straight away. I think he was into it.’

'Oh my god,' Bucky laughed, running his hand through his hair. 'Did you see him again?'

'Once, when I was behind on rent. I dunno, he was nice enough. Polite guy. Weird fetish.' He chuckled, taking in Bucky's expression, which was probably equal measures of amused and horrified. 'I couldn't throw up the second time, though. I just gave him a regular blowjob. I was trying my darnedest to puke, I really was, but I was back to my usual gag reflex free self. Could tell he was disappointed. So yeah, basically, don't worry about annoying me, or making me uncomfortable or nothing. Trust me, I'll just walk out on you if I feel the need.'

Of all things, that was actually the thing that made Bucky feel better, his nerves going from an incessant buzz under his skin to just a niggling itch. He breathed out. Shit, he reminded himself, don’t you _dare_ go trusting this prostitute after ten minutes of talking when you haven’t been able to trust another human being at all in the past five years. That’s just pathetic.

But still, he could feel himself relaxing. ‘You didn’t tell me what your limits were,’ he pointed out, and Steve shrugged.

'I'm getting the feeling you won't even touch near them,' he said. He started checking off on his fingers. 'I'm fine with kissing. I'd ask you not ask me to puke on your dick. Hard limits include barebacking and anything degrading. I don't appreciate people who try to humiliate me for their own pleasure. I've gotten enough of that already, I'm over it.'

Bucky looked down into his hands, twirling his thumb round the top of the beer bottle. ‘Yeah, no, I’m not—’

'You don't strike me as the type,' Steve assured him, and drained a good portion of his beer. 'You don't even want to fuck me, I doubt you're going to shove a boot in my face and make me eat your jizz off the floor or something.'

Bucky furrowed his brow. ‘Does that happen?’

'Not successfully,' Steve replied, and smirked into his bottle.

Bucky grinned, and quickly took another drink, trying to hide how endeared he was. No, no, _no_ , you’re not allowed to crush on the hooker, Barnes, he told himself.

'I do, by the way,' he said, after a moment of only slightly awkward silence. 'Want to fuck.'

'That's fine too,' Steve said, draining his bottle and propping it on the ground next to the settee. He twisted around so that he was mostly lying down, one leg bent up on the cushions, his posture inviting. 'Wanna talk about that?'

Bucky pulled a face. ‘I don’t really think its the kinda thing you talk about, I think it’s the kind of thing you do.’

'Disagree,' Steve said, and raised his eyebrows. ' _Especially_ in what you’ve told me of your case.’

Bucky grumbled. ‘What are you, a sex therapist?’

'In training.'

Bucky paused, beer half-way to his mouth. ‘Wait, really?’

Steve laughed. ‘No,’ he replied, grinning. ‘Bachelor of Fine Arts. But you know, for the next…’ He glanced at his watch. ‘…Hour and a half, I’m whatever you want me to be.’

'I don't need another therapist,' Bucky said. 'I have enough of those.'

'Okay, but if you _do_ wanna fuck, we’re going to have to talk a little, because I ain’t gonna make this worse on you, alright?’

Bucky sighed, and emptied his drink. He shoved his between the cushions of the couch. ‘I’ve been through some shit, okay?’ he said, quickly. Sometimes it was better to get everything out in one go, like tearing off a band-aid. ‘For a long time, I wasn’t allowed to be… me. I wasn’t even allowed to be a person. I was just a thing. And I just.’ He took a deep breath, correcting himself internally. ‘I’ve been told that I did what I had to to survive, but as far as I can see it, I just accepted whatever they, they made me do.’ He glanced at Steve, but tried not to meet his eyes. His expression was blank, carefully so. There was something watery about the tightness of his lips, but Bucky ignored it, pressing on. ‘And I still do that. I just take things. Do things that I think people want me to do. It’s like its a habit I can’t shake, no matter how sick it makes me feel. I usually just, yeah. Vacate the premises,’ he said, pointing to his head. ‘Come back to myself hours later.’

'Fuuuck,' Steve said succinctly. Bucky smiled ruefully, looking out over the rooftops, feeling the cool breeze ruffle his long hair. The one good thing about telling people about his myriad issues was that it had the nice effect of putting _them_ outta their depth for once, instead of it being him who was left floundering.

'So, yeah. I don't like feeling like I'm not in control of myself,' Bucky said. 'And sex does that to me. Puts too much of myself in someone else's hands.'

Steve nodded, chewing on his thumbnail thoughtfully. ‘Do you jerk off?’ he asked, straightforward and blunt.

'Christ, yes.' Bucky huffed out a laugh. 'Don't know how I'd survive, otherwise. Um, it doesn't always go perfectly – sometimes I get stuck in memories and have to stop. But I, you know, _can_ stop. So it’s usually fine.’

'Porn?'

Bucky shook his head. ‘Nah, but I was never really into it,’ he explained. ‘Here and there I’ll stumble upon something I like. But I’ve generally only been turned on by people I like first as, you know, people.’

Steve snorted. ‘So you hired a hooker?’

Bucky flushed, trying not to think about the fact that Steve had been growing on him more and more every second since he had arrived, and he had thought from the moment he had walked through the door that he was cute as all get out. But he wasn’t going to say that. For one thing, he had a feeling Steve wouldn’t appreciate being thought of as cute. ‘Yeah, never said I was smart,’ he muttered instead.

Steve tilted his head back onto the arm of the settee, and made a quiet, thoughtful noise. ‘Okay,’ he said after a moment, and pushed himself up a little bit, looking at Bucky dead on. ‘Okay. How are you feeling?’

Bucky paused at the question, taking quick stock of his physical and emotional state. He was… surprisingly okay, actually. He felt a bit hungry, actually, the way he would often get after a strong rush of nerves and adrenaline, once it started fading off – and he realized that his near panic from earlier was more or less gone. He was still shaking a little, but it felt more like aftershocks of anxiety than anything. He felt embarrassed and a little ill, like he did whenever he talked about his past, but other than that…

Other than that he was okay.

'I feel okay,' he said, sounding surprised.

'Do you feel like you want to try… something?' Steve asked. 'We should take it slow,' he reasoned. 'As slow as, shit, an hour and ten minutes allows for, anyway.'

Bucky nodded, and shifted around on the sofa to kneel, facing Steve. ‘Can I kiss you?’ he asked.

'Just that for now?' Steve asked, but he didn't sound skeptical or judgmental. Bucky's blood was starting to pound in his ears at the idea of being intimate with someone – even just kissing – but he didn't feel _bad_ necessarily, which was new.

'Yeah,' he said. 'Just that.'

'My pleasure.' Steve held out his hand, tugging softly at Bucky's t-shirt, guiding him down. Bucky moved slowly, coming down between Steve's open legs, and propping himself up against the back of the sofa with his prosthetic hand to keep his weight off Steve's body. 'I'm going to check in with you in a few minutes, okay?'

Bucky breathed out, feeling Steve’s own warm breath only scant inches away. The night was starting to cool off properly now, and to his surprise Steve seemed to actually be shivering a little from it below him - but as Bucky came closer, Steve let out a happy sigh and seemed to relax into his warmth a little, the tremors fading. ‘Yes,’ Bucky agreed, and because he couldn’t quite help it; ‘Sorry.’

Steve shook his head in objection, and lifted up his hand to cup the nape of Bucky’s neck and pull him down into a soft kiss.

Bucky felt a strange feeling travel down his spine – a little like fear, a little like guilt – and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. But to his surprise, the feeling started to fade almost immediately, as Steve made a pointed noise into his mouth and began to rub soft, grounding circles against his chest with the flat of his hand.

'Stayin' with me?' he asked, and to his surprise, when Bucky hummed out an affirmative noise, it wasn't an automatic lie.

'I'm good,' Bucky mumbled, and kissed deeper into Steve's mouth, letting some of his weight drop to press down closer, feeling Steve wriggle a little against him, getting comfortable.

The kiss was pretty chaste: more chaste than Bucky would have thought if he had thought that much about kissing a prostitute. In fact, making out with Steve, here on the balcony, wasn’t all that much different, really, in practice, to making out with anybody else – except for the fact that Bucky felt like a weight was lifted off his back, as he knew he didn’t have any further obligations to the guy. He didn’t have to worry about Steve judging him, or hurting him, or being hurt _by_ him. They would never see each other again after tonight, most likely.

Not unless Bucky chose to hire him again, that was. But it was on his own terms either way.

They kissed for quite a long while, until Steve was panting a little bit against him and threading his fingers through Bucky’s hair rather than just cupping his neck, and Bucky was feeling… feeling, to his surprise, good. He felt warm, and pleasant, and invested in the soft noises that Steve was making that didn’t sound _entirely_ faked, and he felt present. Very, very present. Hell, he felt turned on.

Moaning, he kissed deeper into Steve’s mouth, shaping their tongues together, and unconsciously found his hips pressing forward a little, rubbing up against the front of Steve’s jeans. It felt good, and for a second he felt Steve push back in return, his grip in Bucky’s hair tightening for a moment, before he pulled back and made Bucky look him in the eye.

'How are we?' he asked, and Bucky nodded, a little dazed.

'I'm right here,' Bucky said. 'This is good.' And, because he couldn't quite help it; 'Thank you.'

Steve smiled, catlike and a little dirty, and let the hand on Bucky’s chest travel down to the front of his pants, squeezing Bucky’s hard on lightly through the cotton of his trackpants. ‘Do you wanna move inside?’ he asked.

Bucky felt a full body tremor shake through his body, and buried his face in Steve’s neck automatically, trying not to have any real reaction beyond that. ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said, voice coming out before he knew what he was saying. He sounded smooth, easy, relaxed – and foreign to himself.

Amazingly, Steve immediately pulled his hand away from his erection, and shifted back, nudging Bucky gently, but quickly, up and away. Bucky blinked.

'Sorry, was that too much?' Steve asked quickly, catching Bucky's eyes.

Feeling like he was frozen on the spot, Bucky shaped out some answers to the question in his mouth, but for a long moment nothing came. Finally, he just nodded. ‘How, how could you tell?’

Steve just shuffled up on the chair until he was sitting up, and swept his fringe out of his face with one hand. The other, he held out to Bucky in a very clear motion of; _help me up_. ‘We should head inside anyway,’ he said. ”S getting cold, doncha think?’

After a moments hesitation, Bucky stood up and took Steve’s hand in his own, tugging his scrawny body up after him. He came up light as a feather, stumbling a little and laughing as he adjusted the front of his jeans, where Bucky could see the clear swell of his boner. Something dropped inside Bucky, in cringing discomfort, but Steve just squeezed his hand and let go, nudging him forward into the apartment with his elbow.

They stepped into the living room, and Bucky glanced between the sofa and the door to his bedroom, biting down into his lip. Amazingly, Steve didn’t stop touching him for a second on the way into the apartment. Just casual, easy touches – and it was grounding somehow. As they came to a stop in the middle of the room, he simply came up behind Bucky, bumped his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder and slid a hand around his front to nudge up under his shirt. The touch was suggestive, but just enough to not send Bucky spiraling.

'Your room?' he asked. 'I'd like to make out some more, if you would.'

'Yeah,' Bucky said, and glanced apologetically down at Steve. 'You won't…?'

'I won't touch you there unless you tell me to,' he promised. 'You want me to, then say the word.'

Bucky bit on his tongue and led Steve into his bedroom. Saying _yes_ to anything, everything, came second nature to him, like a programmed response. But he wouldn’t do it tonight, he _wouldn’t_. Not to things he didn’t really desire. Steve didn’t want anything from him anyway, except the cash he already had in his back pocket.

Bucky sat down on the bed, shuffling back, and bounced a little bit as Steve dropped heavily (as much so as he could, anyway) down on his lap, leaning in to kiss him again. ‘You can touch _me_ if you want,’ Steve muttered into his mouth. ‘Don’t have’ta, but you can.’

Bucky let his hand come up to stroke up Steve’s bony spine, pulling him closer. He leaned back on the prosthetic elbow, sliding them slowly back onto the bed so that they were mostly lying down, and just relaxed into the slow, lazy kisses. He knew you were meant to keep your eyes closed when kissing, usually. Steve had his closed, at least, dark lashes splayed on pale, slightly pink-splotched cheeks. But he didn’t want to shut his own, he wanted to keep alert.

He didn’t feel comfortable touching Steve with his prosthetic hand – never felt comfortable with that one – but with his eyes open, he almost felt comfortable touching the other man, could almost, almost, forget that he usually disassociated around this point.

'Can I take it off?' he asked, tugging at the hem of Steve's shirt, and the other man just sat up and tugged his t-shirt over his head smoothly. The light in the bedroom was bright enough for Bucky to see every rib in his body – but also the way his cheeks were flushed, and his lips shining and red from kissing. His nipples were small and pink, and the fairest trail of hair led down from his little dip of a belly button into the front of his jeans.

Bucky found his gaze following it.

'I can take 'em off too,' Steve offered, one hand coming down to the button of his pants, but Bucky just shook his head, and smiled lopsidedly up at him.

'Just gimme a few minutes first,' he said.

Steve shrugged, easy and agreeable, and came down to kiss Bucky again.

This time, he was all warm skin under Bucky’s hand and against his chest, and Bucky felt hot with it even through the fabric of his own t-shirt. To his surprise, he could feel desire curling in his stomach, hot and insistent. Recklessly, he tangled his hand in Steve’s hair and pulled him even closer, into an even deeper kiss, groaning into his mouth.

Steve made a low noise, balancing himself on the bed with one hand, the other stroking down Bucky’s shirt, and up under, to feel out the shape of his abs. It was good, it was real good; and Bucky could feel Steve’s own erection pressing up alongside his own, through the rough denim of his jeans. With a low sound, Bucky decided, _to hell with it_ , and angled his hips up to rub them deliberately together.

Moaning in the back of his throat, warm into Bucky’s mouth, Steve pushed back. _Shit_ , Bucky thought, fingers tightening unconsciously in the other man’s hair, and he had to consciously loosen them so that he didn’t tug, and slid his hand instead down to rest in the dip of Steve’s lower back. He could feel himself losing himself to pleasure, except no. No, he wasn’t losing himself at _all_.

'With me?' Steve asked, pulling back just a little from Bucky's mouth – but grinding down more firmly against his hard cock.

'Uh huh,' Bucky said quickly, sincerely. 'Right, right here. This is real good. Fuck.'

Steve grinned. ‘You want it like this?’

'Fuck, yes,' Bucky panted out, and dropped down wholly on the bed, his head thumping against the mattress as Steve began to build up a proper rhythm, rolling his hips deliberately on top of him. God, it was childish, Bucky thought – dry humping through two pairs of trousers. But it was also perfect. He felt hot all over, and aware of every nerve ending in his body as Steve ran his hands over his chest under his t-shirt, teasing at his nipples. 'Yeah, Steve, just like that. That's perfect.'

'Tell me if it gets too much,' Steve replied, tilting his head back so that his neck made a perfect, taught line.

Bucky let his eyes drift close.

He wasn’t sure how long they carried on like that, Steve rocking on top of him and Bucky trembling and gasping as pleasure started to build inside him like a furnace – but it was long enough that when Steve paused, pushed himself up onto his knees so that he was hovering over his body, and looked down at Bucky with a ragged sigh, Bucky’s eyes flew open and he blinked dazedly up at him.

'Why'd'ya stop?' he slurred, but Steve just looked down at him with dilated pupils and a wonky smile and said:

'You were getting quiet.'

'I'm okay,' Bucky promised, and twisted his lips into a tight, self-deprecating smile. 'Thanks for checkin', I guess.'

Steve grinned, pushed his hair off his face again, a little sweat slick. ‘I’m going to need you to keep talkin’ to me, I think,’ he said, and to Bucky’s disappointment, climbed off his body. But he only sat on the bed, quickly unlacing and stepping out of his shoes. ‘Don’t wanna make your sheets dirty,’ he explained, looking around pointedly.

Bucky scratched his neck, still feeling a little hazy from arousal. ‘I know it looks a bit, uh, army regulation in here,’ he muttered. ‘I ain’t anal about it, I swear.’

Steve just snorted, and climbed back over Bucky, lowering his head to kiss at his jaw, sucking lightly at pulse point. ‘Pick up where we left off?’ he suggested, and Bucky nodded.

'Can,' he started, and squeezed his eyes around a ragged groan as Steve licked up the line of his neck. 'You mind getting outta the jeans?'

Steve just shifted one hand down to pop the button on his trousers. ‘You stayin’ as you are?’ he asked.

Bucky hummed, sliding his hands down to help Steve out of his pants. ‘Yeah, please,’ he said. He used his prosthetic hand only briefly, before moving it carefully away.

'Hey, I'm good,' Steve said. 'I think we're doin' great, don't you?'

'I think you're a wizard,' Bucky just murmured as Steve laughed and kicked his jeans and briefs off around his ankles with some difficulty, Bucky prying at them with his toes in vague assistance.

'Oh yeah,' he chuckled, straddling Bucky again and setting up a steady, rolling rhythm once more. It was closer now, more intimate, just the drag of Steve's erection against Bucky's own through the fluid cotton of his trackpants. He could feel precum smearing and seeping through the fabric, from both of them, maybe. 'I was on my knees in Diagon Alley before I came over here.'

Bucky felt himself shake with sudden, silent laughter. ‘Oh my god,’ he said, reaching down to take a handful of Steve’s ass, pulling him even more flush against him as they frotted up against one another. ‘You sure got back from London quickly.’

'Mm, floo powder,' Steve explained. 'Which, by the way, is an expense I should charge you for. Add an extra sickle onto the price.'

Bucky snorted again, and glanced off to the side for a moment, checking the time. What he saw made something drop inside him, surprisingly. He only had another half an hour of Steve’s time. ‘C’mere,’ he muttered, quickly, pulling Steve down into another deep kiss and thrusting his hips up with intent. Steve groaned, and it, it was good. But suddenly Bucky felt the press of time. Half an hour seemed like a lot, but the idea of having a time limit made his orgasm seem further off; distant, unattainable.

_You don’t need to come_ , he reminded himself. _Tonight has been way more successful than it coulda really been anyway._

But that wasn’t good enough. He needed— he wanted— He _needed_ to be normal, functional.

'C'mon, c'mon,' he panted into Steve's mouth, moving against him with intent, and Steve picked up the pace acquiescently, grinding down against Bucky, rubbing their dicks together and moaning.

'Keep talkin' to me,' he gasped out, one hand coming up to stroke, surprisingly tender, through Bucky's hair. He moved like the crashing of tides over Bucky's body, sending warm waves of pleasure shooting through him.

'Mm, nope, don't wanna.' Bucky's hand tightened on Steve's hip, and his head fell back again. Steve's mouth made another journey down his neck that sent shivers shooting down his spine. 'I just wanna, wanna… wanna…'

'Do you want me to make you come?'

Bucky nodded, feeling his voice die in his throat. Distantly, he realized he was starting to slip into being non-verbal, which wasn’t— it wasn’t—

He could still feel. Feel the drag of pleasure like a thread on a needle being tugged up through broken flesh. Wait. No, that wasn’t— that wasn’t—

Feel the way that Steve moved over him like choking, like suffocation, like hot and dark and—

Steve stopped moving, fingers tightening in his hair. ‘Bucky?’ he said. Soft, questioning.

Bucky whined, low in his throat.

'Bucky!'

His eyes shot open, disoriented. ‘What?’ He swallowed. ‘We fucking, or what?’

'No, we ain't,' Steve said sharply. 'Not unless you talk to me.'

As Bucky blinked in the light, things started to come slowly back together, forming the warm, solid, skinny shape above him with the sharp, stern look in its eyes.

'I…' Bucky breathed. 'Yeah. I, I'm good.'

Slow, almost suspicious, Steve started rocking against him again. ‘I once had an asthma attack during sex,’ he just said, plainly. Bucky smiled wanly, breathing deep as he tried to calm himself down.

'Yeah?' he asked. 'Did your client get off on that, too?'

'Wasn't a client,' Steve explained. His voice sounded a bit shaky, either from alarm or pleasure, Bucky couldn't tell. He was clearly fighting to keep it steady. 'Ex-girlfriend. It was, she was headed back to London in the morning, her visa was up. We had this plan, to have wild, desperate goodbye sex all night, and hopefully she would be exhausted enough to sleep on the plane.'

Bucky let out a breath of a laugh. ‘Didn’t go like that?’

'Well, she was exhausted all right. I had an attack, and then I fainted? Or during, not sure. Anyway, she thought she'd killed me. Called an ambulance. We spent all night in the emergency room.'

'Romantic,' Bucky commented, and rolled his hips experimentally up. It was still, yeah, he was still good. 'Was she pissed?'

'Nah, not at that.' Steve grinded down, clutching one hand in the fabric of Bucky's shirt as he groaned. 'A, a bit when I started fucking people for money. But y'know, gotta pay for college somehow, right?'

'I'm glad you, you chose this, not bussing tables,' Bucky panted, sliding one hand up Steve's spine to pull him down, closer. To his surprise, he could feel his orgasm building again, slow and deep.

'Me too, mostly,' Steve moaned, burying his face in Bucky's neck again as he rolled his hips. Bucky felt a tremor wrack through Steve's body. 'Hey,' he prompted after a few moments. 'Don't you go quiet on me again, now.'

Bucky tightened his hand on the nape of Steve’s neck, his body thrumming with the need to find release. He was so close. ”M not,’ he breathed out. ‘I’m just, I’m nearly… I’m gonna…’

'Uh huh.' Steve rocked against him; lost some of his rhythm, his thighs trembling. 'Same, yeah.'

'Really?'

'Yeah.'

Bucky felt mingled terror and desire shoot through him as he groaned, burying his face in the crook of Steve’s narrow shoulders. ‘I wanna feel you,’ he said, muffled, and Steve whined in response, picking up his pace.

'You gonna come with me?' Steve gasped, sliding one hand up Bucky's chest, the other threading through his hair – gentle, not pulling.

'Maybe, I, I think-' Bucky canted his hips up, stuttering his rhythm. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his breaths coming shallower. He could feel Steve on top of him, but not hurting him, not suffocating him, not pressuring him. Just helping him fall apart, joining him and holding him together at once.

His fingers tightened on the neck of Bucky’s shirt, and he panted fast and wet against Bucky’s collarbone. His body was like a tight coil, undulating and wound up, and a glance down saw that his face was screwed up so that he looked almost angry with pleasure.

_Goddamn gorgeous_ , Bucky thought, and didn’t even realize he had panted it out aloud until Steve was stilling against him, his cock pulsing between them. His hips made a few more aborted, jagged movements, and the warm flush of him spilling between them, thighs shaking with the rush of sensation, was what tipped Bucky over the edge.

For a moment, he felt like he was falling, and everything was the rush of blood in his ears and the inability to take in steady breaths – but after a moment, he felt Steve’s lips closing in to kiss him clumsily, just lazy and slow, and he melted into the sensation. His orgasm seemed to tremble through his body, startled and unsure. He shook with it long after he stopped ejaculating: just lay there, gasping shallow breaths into Steve’s warm mouth, and tensing with slightly overwhelmed pleasure.

'… Bucky?'

Bucky took a deep breath in through his nose, and closed his eyes tight, savoring the feeling of another human being lying close to him, sweaty and hot and sticky between them.

He knew it was done now, that was that. His time would be up any minute, and hell, the act was done. Suddenly, shamefully, he felt tears prickling behind his eyes.

_Fuck no,_ he thought fiercely to himself. _Don’t you fucking dare cry in front of the sex worker. Don’t you fucking dare, Barnes_. He knew he was just overcome because he hadn’t been able to connect to anyone to years, not really. But. But this wasn’t real connection. He knew that, he knew that fine. It was the sort of connection you paid for, and if you wanted it again, you paid again.

He sighed.

'Bucky?' Steve prompted again, sounding more concerned this time.

'Yeah, I…' He tried to wipe over his face with his prosthetic hand, trying to hide the not-quite-tears. His voice barely cracked. 'How much does it cost to keep you another hour?'

It was supposed to be a joke, but it didn’t quite sound like one.

Steve snorted, and pushed himself up, rolling away like a cool change. ‘Yeah, sorry,’ he replied, light and friendly, only a little breathless. ‘But I do actually have a blank canvas at home that’s gotta be a masterpiece by Monday, five pm.’

Bucky smiled, just the smallest, tense quirk of the lips, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His trackpants were sticky with cooling come, smeared and messy. ‘Right, of course.’

Steve glanced over, pulling his blue t-shirt over his head. ‘You… good, though?’

Bucky dipped his head, and answered honestly. ‘Better than I’ve been in a while, I think, buddy.’ He pushed his sweat damp hair out of his face. ‘Thanks. For, you know. For that.’

Leaning forward to grab his jeans, Steve looked back over his shoulder at Bucky, pulling his lip between his teeth consideringly. After a moment, he let out a little huff, and wet his lips. He grinned, fishing around in the pockets of his jeans without pulling them on.

He pulled out two cell phones, one in each hand. One of them was smaller, cheap looking and disposable. ‘This is my work phone,’ he sold, holding it up. With the other phone, he quickly swiped his thumb across the screen and entered a pin number. He passed it to Bucky. ‘That’s, you know, my real phone. Put your number in it. If, uh, if you want.’

Bucky stared at him for a long while, blinking. He looked down at the phone. The background was a picture of an extremely pretty woman, smiling softly at he camera, dark brown waves of hair falling over one eye. He tapped the phone-book icon on the screen. The world was feeling slightly off kilter, just a little bit.

He quickly typed in his name and number, keeping his gaze averted from Steve, and passed the phone back. ‘You don’t have to call,’ he said quickly, even though he desperately hoped Steve would.

'But you won't mind if I do?'

Bucky shook his head, watching as Steve struggled into his jeans, squeezing the tight denim over his narrow hips. He pushed himself up until he was sitting, watching in a daze as Steve climbed into his oversize boots. ‘I’d like that.’ _Don’t fall for the hooker_ , he reminded himself sharply, but his resolve crumpled as Steve flashed him a grin like sunlight on sparkling water.

The boots were on, and Steve was standing up, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was eight minutes past eleven.

'I'll, uh, see you to the door,' Bucky said, standing awkwardly, his trackpants sticking uncomfortably to his pubes where the jizz was drying. He cringed.

'Ain't going to steal your silverware,' Steve teased, stretching as he walked out into the living room.

Bucky followed, rubbing his neck. ‘Didn’t think you were.’

At the door, Steve left with a crooked grin and a slightly awkward, endearing wave – and one he was down the stairs, Bucky closed the door, and rested his head against the cool wood for a long time, just breathing and counting.

Eventually, he moved. He went into the bathroom and stripped down, stepping into the shower – but he didn’t scrub hard at his skin to wash away the touch of another person, he just let the warm water cascade his body and down the drain until he was boneless and sleepy.

He sat on the bathroom floor for a while after that, warm with the fog from the shower and the heating light overhead, and he eyed the toilet bowl, half expecting his body to physically reject the experience until it was acrid and burning in the back of his throat.

It didn’t.

When he climbed into bed, he slept quickly, without dreams.

*

The text came through at 6:54 the next morning, before Bucky had woken up. He felt the bed vibrate a little, the sound of his phone humming against the sheets waking him up, and he blindly felt about for it with his right hand. His prosthetic was lying on the bedside table.

The message read: _Couldn’t sleep until I checked in that you were still okay. Sex worker follow ups are normal, right?_

Bucky grinned, tapped something half asleep back about being right as rain, and what the hell, you’re only getting to bed now?

He fell back asleep again immediately; woke the next time to a photo of the most beautiful goddamn painting of a gold-lit balcony overlooking the glittering streets of Brooklyn that he’d ever seen in his life, light glittering blue and yellow on the industrial river like an aurora.

_Don’t fall in love with the hooker_ , Bucky reminded himself. But it was no use.


End file.
